


I'd Follow

by magic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Kurodai Week, M/M, Major Character Injury, SECOM au, Special Ops, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2651213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magic/pseuds/magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Daichi’s given a new chance at life, it comes at a price. He figures it’s worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Follow

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Хоть в разведку](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5970187) by [named_Juan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/named_Juan/pseuds/named_Juan)



> written for kurodai week day 4: confessions + crossover. based off of [@sskz_gsr](https://twitter.com/sskz_gsr)’s SECOM series. this is inspired by/a meld of both _phantom: requiem for the phantom_ and _jormungand_. if that doesn’t give you the idea of what you’re in for, you can click [here](http://tetsundere.tk/post/103183608240/notes-about-secom-au-and-verse) for a couple of more notes about this. warning for violence, character injury and character death.
> 
> this is angst. [oraeryu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Oraeryu/pseuds/Oraeryu) asked for it. as usual, thank you to her and dejah for listening to me go on and on about the verse, and jess for having nothing but kind words for me. 
> 
> kudos and comments always always appreciated! ♥

"You’re Kuroo’s boy, arent’cha," Bokuto says with a flourish of his fingers.

Daichi thinks that’s dangerous, really. The test bombs they’re constructing may not be live yet, but.

"My name is Sawamura," Daichi says as he tries to focus on connecting the wires correctly.

He doesn’t deny it, because as far as everyone is concerned it’s the truth. When Daichi closes his eyes to think about the last few components he’s connected and whether or not he’s missed anything, he lets out a small laugh.

When he opens his eyes again, Bokuto is staring at him, the picture of curiosity. Finally starting at his work again, Daichi asks with a shrug of his shoulder to their work station, “How many trial runs did it take you to be successful?”

"By myself? Fifteen, apparently I was supposed to be blown up five times," he says sheepishly before he looks down at his mess of wires and shrapnel.

"Huh," Daichi offers in return as he puts together the final piece. He moves his hand to the detonator, a yellow light turning on and informing him that his newly constructed bomb is on standby. His first time after being shown what to do, too.

Bokuto lets out a low whistle, before he whimpers softly. “Well damn, no wonder Kuroo made you his.”

Daichi lets out a small sympathetic noise as Bokuto sets off a small alarm from the practice materials, letting him know that he’s blown himself up for the sixth time.

When Daichi steps back from his own he feels someone’s gaze on him. He looks up to meet the familiar face, yards away from him but staring at him in earnest with a smirk on his face.

He sighs, before he looks back down and starts to disassemble the bomb and then reassemble it once more. Ignoring the prickling heat on the back of his neck that only happens when Kuroo is involved is difficult, but not impossible.

—

Daichi’s specialty is close quarter combat, just like Kuroo’s.

Maybe he’s never been properly trained, but after living in what could only be described as Hell on earth, it becomes a consequence of surviving as long as he has. You can’t do much about long distance threats, other than have good reflexes, and even then if you have the chance to dodge they were shoddy at best. So you focus on what you can do, and what will help you survive as long as possible.

He wonders if the reason why Kuroo’s so good at close quarter combat is because he’s the same as Daichi.

They never get to talk about Kuroo’s upbringing, but from what Daichi’s been able to get in bits and pieces here and there is that their situations weren’t that different.

But then again, being a child soldier and then continuing on with a gun in your hand for as long as you lived really isn’t that rare. Or as rare as it should be.

Daichi takes a sharp inhale of breath as he feels the cool metal of a blade pressed against his neck. Kuroo has one of his arms twisted, all of his weight on his legs and Daichi can hear his breath as steady as ever right next to Daichi’s ear.

He’s dead. If it were anyone else, he would’ve been dead.

"What happened to using training knives," he says, feeling a drop of blood roll down his throat as he swallows, everything inside him hot with shame. Being distracted is something he thought he’d gotten past years ago, yet here he was.

In the corner of his eye he can see both of the training knives that he and Kuroo were using a moment ago flung on the ground and very out of reach. They’d started using everything from gravel to their own bodies to try to take the other down, even if this is just practice.

Kuroo applies more pressure to the blade, and for a moment Daichi wonders if this is how he will die.

Does it really matter, when the only reason why he’s alive is the one pressing the cool metal to his skin?

"No one plays by the rules," Kuroo says quietly, before he takes the knife away from the already broken skin. Daichi feels himself breathe properly for the first time thirty-nine seconds, maybe forty.

He knows that better than anyone, so maybe that’s why he slams his bandage wrapped hand against the ground until it bleeds. It shouldn’t even be an issue.

Kuroo just stays still, perched on the back of Daichi’s legs and gripping onto his wrist too tight.

"Get off me," Daichi growls, trying do his best to shake his instructor off.

Kuroo doesn’t even have to say that he won’t, not until Daichi makes him.

A deep breath, and then Daichi twists one of Kuroo’s fingers. There’s just enough give in his grip that it doesn’t break, but it’s enough to help him get out from underneath the taller man. When he finally gets control of the knife that was in Kuroo’s grasp just a moment ago, he sees the smile on Kuroo’s face.

He can’t hear the words, but he sees Kuroo’s lips murmur something.

Daichi knows he shouldn’t be smiling once he has Kuroo underneath him, but there’s something very wrong about the way Kuroo makes him feel. It’s nothing short of abnormal, nothing short of strange.

It might prove to be deadly to the two of them eventually, but for now he laughs right next to Kuroo’s ear, keeping him down while Kuroo bucks his hips up.

—

There’s nothing special about an M25.

Daichi could assemble and reassemble one in his sleep, his hands feeling secure with the weight of the rifle. When Akaashi hands one to him without saying a word, Daichi immediately checks to make sure that everything’s in working order, his eyes still on the ground in front of him.

They’re providing support for Kuroo and Bokuto. Even though he can just see their forms from the thermal scope, he can tell which one’s which.

He’s been working with Kuroo for almost a year, now. His movements are more graceful than Bokuto’s, everything planned and executed with intent as he takes down yet another combatant. Their instructions had been to go for stealth rather than anything else, and it makes Daichi hold his breath when he sees Bokuto’s outline move too quickly, drawing the attention of more than one of their targets.

"Hold," Akaashi says simply, his own rifle more complex than Daichi’s own as his finger moves from the trigger guard and hovers over the trigger. He specializes in guns, after all. This is his domain, from up above.

Daichi would be more help on the ground, he knows. But as is he can only watch as Bokuto nearly misses being shot, and Kuroo taking care of it along with his own targets. Once it’s safe, Akaashi’s finger moves back to the guard and he lets out a soft exhale of breath.

His gaze doesn’t move from the scope, when he asks, “Would you have shot?”

Daichi realizes that his fingers are shaking and he hadn’t taken his eyes off of the situation on the ground for a moment. He releases the gun from his grip, still cradling it as he looks to Akaashi rather than the scope.

Yes, he would have. No matter how many times he’s seen Kuroo come back successfully, adrenaline running through his veins he can’t help but think about Kuroo not coming back, and what he can do to keep that from happening as long as possible.

When did he get like this? He’s never cared about anyone’s welfare but his own, not since that came to bite him in the ass and he lost everyone he did care about. When he closes his eyes he sees smaller forms broken and bloody, how he couldn’t save them. He could hardly save himself.

Now he cares again. He doesn’t know whose fault it is, and he doesn’t know if he hates it or not.

"No," he lies, and then trains his eyes back on the ground.

This can’t happen. The idea of providing assistance to someone as skilled as Kuroo is laughable, at best. And if he can’t take care of himself, what hope does he have of that?

—

"So when are you going to do it?" Kuroo asks.

His voice is quiet, and it’s still too loud in the comparative silence of the green surrounding them. Daichi wants to tell him to shut the fuck up, but he knows that that’s just what Kuroo wants.

They’re lying down, covered in camo and still. It’s minutes later when Kuroo shuffles again, moving slightly closer to where Daichi has himself situated, his finger on the trigger guard and focusing on the horizon.

"When are you going to kiss me?" Kuroo asks, and his breath is warm against Daichi’s ear. It’s enough to make Daichi feel like shivering, but he doesn’t move. He keeps his vigil, and then moves his finger to a trigger as someone moves too close to where they’re lying.

"In your dreams," Daichi mutters, before he pulls the trigger.

His target falls, and he and Kuroo go to work as his comrades notice, and start on the prowl.

Maybe it’s his imagination that Kuroo’s smiling more than usual, but he doesn’t have too much time to think about it. When Daichi finally catches his breath, rubbing dirt on a wound and looking around to make sure they’re clear, he feels the familiar buzz at the base of his spine.

Kuroo kisses at the nape of his neck, then. And Daichi jumps before giving him a scowl.

He hates this.

—

The first time Kuroo had met him, Daichi had a piece of glass to the taller man’s throat.

He kept on talking, like it wasn’t a big deal.

When Daichi thinks back to it, he wonders if that was the first time he realized that there was something different about Kuroo. Something he couldn’t place his finger on. Something he couldn’t stop staring at, transfixed.

"Yeah, but what characters?" he’d asked, after he’d disarmed him, broken Daichi’s forearm and held him tight. Asking what how he wrote his name and threatening to break more bones if he didn’t hear it.

It was ridiculous, completely ridiculous. Here was a solider, or a mockery of one, dressed in black with actual weaponry rather than the mess that Daichi normally saw hobbled together, focusing on him and asking what characters he used to write his name.

"Swamp and town," he spat out, with an insult to the asshole’s mother that got him another twist of his arm.

He was close to blacking out when he heard, “My mother was a good woman.”

Absolutely ridiculous.

"I like you. I think I’ll keep you."

—

It’s years too late for Daichi to get the proper nutrients that he needed back when he turned thirteen, fourteen. He isn’t short, by any means, but he can’t help but stare at the people around him as they change, each in a different state of undress, getting called in to see the doctor for a checkup after their latest mission.

Kuroo’s torso is covered in just as many scars as Daichi’s is, but it’s longer, leaner, seen more sun.

One day he wants to ask Kuroo, exactly where he grew up. What his mother was really like, if she died like Daichi thinks she did. How he got this scar, or this one, or this one.

As it is, he stays quiet and cracks his neck as he flexes his fingers, looking down for a precursory glance at his injuries.

A gash to his forearm, a sprain of his ankle. The fingers in his left hand feel sore and swollen but he doesn’t think anything is broken, even if every time he moves them it feels as though they need to be popped.

He’s opening his hand back and forth when Kuroo places his hand in Daichi’s, getting his attention and making him look up from where he’s seated.

"I need you to do something for me," Kuroo says.

Daichi sighs, not saying no but not saying that he will, either. Just staying silent. By now he’s used to not understanding anything about the taller man that’s standing before him, that’s slowly consuming him.

That brought him back from the fires of Hell and then made sure he tended to his burns. Even as Daichi spat at him.

"Yeah," Daichi says, and he wants to yank his hand away.

He isn’t used to human contact unless it’s meant to harm. Every time Kuroo touches him like this, Daichi wonders how he got to be this way. How he learned to accept even being near other people without being in pain. It’s been a slow process for Daichi, all this time he still hasn’t gotten there quite yet, but. It’s helped, having Kuroo there.

Kuroo grips Daichi’s hand tightly, and his heart feels bruised rather than his fingers.

There’s a smile on his face when he says, “Don’t remember me.”

—

He’s scared.

He’s almost six feet tall, 70 kilograms of muscle and regret, always has a knife strapped onto him somewhere. He’s made it to nineteen years old, when none of the people he grew up with made it past their early teens.

He has food, a bed, and order in his life for once, or some semblance of it.

He has someone that he sees everything in. From the sun to the stars and it feels like he’s found something solid that he can grasp for once.

But it’s just out of reach.

And he’s scared.

—

"Do you remember your first kiss?" Kuroo asks, cutting an apple with a knife that’s too large, then tossing a piece of it in the air and catching it with his teeth. Always the showoff, and Daichi still can’t help but watch.

He’s honest when he says, “I haven’t had one.”

A laugh is expected, maybe a taunt. Maybe stealing his first kiss for his own. But Kuroo just bites into the fruit, and stretches his legs out as he looks out to the training grounds.

"Choose wisely, then."

—

He wishes he could close his eyes, but he can’t.

It isn’t the first time he’s seen blood. Remembers pale hair covered in it, the sounds of people dying around him and nothing he could do to stop it. So he tried to become stronger, but he just ended up by himself, anyway.

Everything’s burning hot and he feels the tears go down his face as Kuroo coughs. Even if he wanted to call out for Akaashi or Bokuto, Iwaizumi or Oikawa it’s been minutes since he’s seen them, and he knows they wouldn’t help.

It’s too late. It’s too late. It’s too late.

"Don’t look at me like that," Kuroo says, his hands gripping the knife and pulling it out of his gut. He jerks his wrist, trying to make it go quicker. Probably so Daichi won’t linger, can get out alive himself. When he presses a hand to Daichi’s face it’s warm and wet with blood, and he looks sad in some way.

Like he wants to say more but when he opens his mouth nothing comes out but a choking, pleading sound.

Death isn’t beautiful.

They deal in death, and they know first hand that it is the most ugly thing in the world.

"No," Daichi says as he presses a hand to the wound. HIs voice is raw and he’s yelling but he doesn’t know what he’s saying, doesn’t even know if it makes sense. If it’s anything other than garbled words.

It’s as if all the adrenaline that was coursing through him leaves his body and he feels boneless, just as the last bursts of life leave Kuroo’s body. His hand stills, his chest stops rising.

He has time to close his eyes. He _had_ time to close his eyes.

Without realizing that his body is moving, he feels himself grab at the gun at Kuroo’s side, and shoot someone that wasn’t just dead yet, was dumb enough to stand back up.

Daichi starts to laugh, a laugh that makes his whole body shake as he presses Kuroo’s still hand to his face. The world’s kept on turning, he’s still breathing, still trying to live.

"I hate you," he says, before he lies the hand back down.

When he leans forward to wipe at the blood on Kuroo’s face, he traces a finger to his lips. And then meets them with his own.

"I hate you," he says again, his eyes still stinging before he stands up.

He grabs the extra gun, and the knife he knows Kuroo keeps at his ankle. He moves on, and doesn’t look back.

—

When he can’t sleep at night, he presses his fingers to the side blade that he took that day. It had his own name etched into the metal, haphazard and crudely done. He doesn't even know when Kuroo did it.

He remembers asking Kuroo why he saved him that day. Why he didn’t just kill him, like he should’ve.

"Wrong," Kuroo replied. As if it was a fact as true as the sky being blue or Daichi falling in love with him. "You saved me. Now get back to work."

He still thinks about Kuroo despite the fact that he was told not to.

Maybe it’s his final act of defiance to the man that turned his world upside down and then left him behind.

Or maybe he’s finally realizing what he missed, by not wanting to let others in.

Daichi presses the cool metal of the knife to his lips, and closes his eyes before cursing.


End file.
